


When Figs Fly

by ifoughtadingoandwon



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23307424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifoughtadingoandwon/pseuds/ifoughtadingoandwon
Summary: When Robin hands Lon'qu a naughty book, she stirs up an insecurity and makes amends.
Relationships: Lon'qu/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 51





	When Figs Fly

Robin peeked over her book to watch the smooth arc of his back, and his blade hand, its tendons taut, whittle away at a piece of wood with a knife. A pile of shavings cut into clean spirals lay over a handkerchief between his feet.

As precise as Lon'qu's whittling was, it was no match for Gaius’s nimble hand and the way the thief could fashion a fetching bracelet or pendant at his leisure. But for the sake of his ego, she closed her book and pulled away from the tree trunk.

The blades of grass pricked into her gloves as she leaned forward. On closer inspection of his work, she could only narrow her eyes and frown at that indiscernible shape in his hands.

“Is that a bear?” She asked, confident in her keen eye. 

He kept silent.

Maybe she should imagine it upside down. “Whale? Sheep? ...Beetle?” 

He kept silent—again.

“Oh, I got it. A sea cucumber!”

“It’s…” Lon’qu held the figurine up and said through a dour press of his lips, “a duck. Has no one seen one before?’  
It was a question he should ask himself, she thought but kept to herself; Robin didn’t want to discourage him from a hobby that allowed them to sit side by side. And there was a certain charm to Lon’qu doing his best to make tiny animals in his deadly serious way. He was like a bear doing needlepoint with its big, clawed mittens.

“I suppose it’s the beak that’s confusing me. It’s rather… snout-like.” Their sleeves touched as she reached over to trace over what she assumed was the head of the duck.

A narrowed dubiousness flickered across his face. With a pressing of metal against wood, Lon’qu prepared to resume his carving. But then the duck was passed to her, his knife following.

She could still feel the warmth of his hands in the knife handle. “If you thin this out here…” Robin said, paring carefully. He leaned close to watch, making an occasional nod.

In ten careful cuts, it was decidedly a duck. She handed it back to him and he turned it over in his hands. He resumed his carving and she her reading. 

They lapsed into a warm silence. A breeze swayed the branches above and the pinholes of light falling onto the grass. From below, at the base of the hill, the sounds from camp carried up on the wind.

Tentatively Lon’qu turned and asked, “What are you reading?” 

“Hmm, I don’t think you would enjoy it.” Robin met him with a playful squint. 

“Do not take me for someone who does not appreciate literature.”

“Here, then. Take a gander.” A little bit too much excitement bled into her voice, but he paid no mind. Even the driest account of a near forgotten, insignificant battle captivated the tactician—surely this would be no different, he must’ve thought.

He took it with a dull expression and began to read. Slowly at first. But then his gaze juddered over the page in a quickening pace. His brows knit in confusion. Soon his eyes widened and halted to a stop. Lon’qu snapped the book shut. “Wha-what is this?” The dappled sunlight freckling his face only made the flush of his face even more boyish looking.

Robin took it that he had expected talks of phalanxes and scouting parties, not heaving bosoms and phalluses. With a laugh, she pried apart his stiff fingers and placed the book back on her lap. “Sumia lent me some of her books. I don’t think she intended to slip _this_ into the pile, but it’s quite the palate cleanser.”

Red-faced, Lon’qu pointed his gaze down the hill, past the soft roll of the grass, towards the encampment below. Even from this distance, Sully’s battle cries rang clear.

He began with trepidation, “Those words—is that something… you find pleasant?“

“Hm, I generally prefer novels without paragraphs devoted to each layer of darned netting the protagonist is wearing that day. What’s worse still is seeing how much of it gets ripped apart…” Robin shuddered, thinking of how much of Cordelia’s allowance had been spent on Valmese lace for her wedding day. “I pity the steward that manages the lady’s accounts.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said brusquely. “All the talk of seasons and flowers and beauty... Is that desirable?”

“You mean the salacious flatteries that Virion hands out like a rich man struck by a fit of pietism does alms? Considering the amount of skirts he gets into, I’ve no doubt many find it charming.” As she thumbed through the book for her spot again, Robin knew not what to think of Lon’qu’s odd questions. What did any of this have to do with a raunchy book?

“Not other women. You.”

“Hm, there’s an appeal to it. I’m not hard of hearing to pretty words, even if they fall from a silver tongue.”

He stood, leaving the grass beneath pressed into a bed his shape. There was something welcoming about it, inviting her to crawl in and embrace the warmth he bled into the ground.

Robin stopped flipping through the pages, arrested by the worrying sight of his broad shoulders stooped as he looked down the sloping grass.

After a bitter stretch of months, they had worked up to flashes of intimacy—their fingers brushing against each other when they walked side by side. Sly presses of her thigh against his during Frederick’s many speeches about proper use of the bathing facilities. Her muffled giggles in his ear after she sneaked into his tent in the dead of the night. 

But still Lon’qu struggled. Handing him this book was a wicked joke now. The thin hardback weighed heavy like a bloodied weapon in her hands, having undone weeks of careful touches and words. Guilt tore at her insides as she stared at his back, retreating inwards and away from her.

In her negligence, the book had parted to the pages last read, where a single wood shaving sat wedged in the seam. She glanced down at it and realized it wasn’t a steamy scene that had gotten him flustered. It was the climax of the chapter; a soaring passage of a nobleman's impassioned declaration of eternal love and devotion to the heroine. Pretty words one after the other, comparing her to the moon, the sun, every celestial body, and then some. But there was a sincerity in the writing that gleamed beneath the beautiful, vacuous prose.

Lon’qu, this poor, foolish man, had thought this was what she wanted, what he was lacking.

She gave him a careful prodding. “Lon’qu, what’s the real matter?”

”Is my manner of speaking… unpleasant?” He asked with a touch of relief, as if this had been the question he was asking all along.

“If I found it unpleasant, I wouldn’t be trying so hard to wheedle words out of you.” Robin rose, the book clutched beneath an elbow, and her other hand free to graze her knuckles against his. His shook with an unbidden flinch, but soon, Lon’qu returned her gesture with his hand taking hers.

“...Are you sure?”

“For a small coin, any bard or minstrel can fill my need for honeyed words. Virion and Inigo would do it for free, even.” At that Lon’qu frowned, and she continued, “But from you, I don’t need that. Just your presence is enough.” 

His eyes softened and his ears turned red. 

Robin turned to him with a sly grin. “Admittedly, your compliments _do_ tend to focus on my footwork.”

“You’ve improved considerably since our first spar,” he said bewildered yet with a stern brow.

“That first spar didn’t have any footwork at all. Unless we count your running away.” She snorted at his hushed retorts. “But you miss my point. We don’t just fight alongside each other now. We’re beyond brothers in arms, don’t you think?” It was Robin’s turn to blush now.

Lon’qu rubbed his chin with his free hand and said, “I see. I suppose I should find alternate things to praise. Like…” His brows furrowed.

“Here, I’ll give you some as an example—I find your diligence admirable. Your wood carvings are improving… And those pants you wore the other day were quite flattering.”

“Flattering? Pants are pants.”

“Pants are more than that if they’re a smidge tight and hug your thighs like they were tailored by the gods.”

“I’m pretending you didn’t say that,” he said glumly. But his hand squeezed hers back.

**Author's Note:**

> God, I miss this ship so much.


End file.
